


A Song of Earth and Sky

by TheCuddleMonster



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Clarke Lannister, Clexa, Clexa Pride Week, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Game of Thrones - Freeform, Lexa Stark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:02:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19356652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCuddleMonster/pseuds/TheCuddleMonster
Summary: Alexandria Stark the Queen in the North has taken a southern traitor as a wife in an attempt to stabilize the 6 Kingdoms, but there is trouble brewing all around the North, and Clarke Lannister plays the game better than she expects.





	1. Lexa Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a while. This has a whole lot more plot than most of my stories. I tried to make it interesting. This doesn't follow the canon of season 8 but I think it makes senses.

"What do we do with the girl?"

Lexa has never had much fondness for the south. As a girl, her father brought her to court. Even then, she found southerners to be odd folks but their lords were a foreign animal altogether.

"Execute her. End that bloody family once and for all." 

Now as a woman, as Queen of the North, she can barely stomach her time in the south. She feels guilt for her disdain.

"The girl isn't guilty of her father's crime."

She has the south in her blood. Her father’s grandmother was a southern lady. 

"She should be married."

She wishes she could find love for her kin.

"Changing her name won't change the matter that any boys she whelps will be Lannisters. Put the bitch to death." 

But they are a vile lot and she has more to worry about than their games.

"I'll marry her then." 

The other houses are silent. 

"I'll marry her. She'll be a Stark. I'll keep her leagues away from the Six Kingdoms and she won't whelp any Lannisters from a sterile bed." 

"You want Casterly Rock." One of the Lord's scoffs. "You can't-" 

"I don't care what you do with her lands. I'll take the girl. And her gold."

"The Lannisters control more than half the gold in The Six Kingdoms."

"Yes, they do. And seeing as half of our united army consisted of Northmen I think it's fair they take half the spoils."

"Take the girl." 

"I will take the girl. And. Half of her gold."

"My Lady, surely you can understand-"

"I understand that this war was not going well for you Prince Whoever You Are. Before I left my cozy home and march 100,000 of my own men down here the Lannister hoard had sacked your castle. You would have been next Lord I Care About You Even Less. I came and ended the war like winter does the summer. You'd have all been under Lannister boots and their reign by years end most likely if it were not for me. That is all I understand." 

"We could have-"

"But you didn't. Did you?" 

"The Queen is right." King Dante speaks for the first time since he entered the room. "And you should remember you are speaking to a queen, My Prince." 

"Apologies Your Grace." He has the sense to bow his head. "To you as well your Grace." 

"You are forgiven." The King accepts his apology on Lexa's behalf. "Your Grace, you can have the gold and the girl. The rest of you will take her remaining gold and divide it amongst yourselves and your people. I will take Casterly Rock. I will give it to the knight Ser Emerson. A hero in this war."

"Father!" 

"That's enough, boy. I've made my decision. These men have risked all to keep our family in power. Now they will reap the benefits of what they risked and sacrificed. Dismissed."

The lords are happy to go with the promise of gold sparkling in their eyes. The Prince spares Lexa one more disapproving glare before he goes.

"He's a good man. He has much to learn still." 

"I'm sure." Lexa has never pretended to like the Prince. He proposed to her twice when she was a girl and she refused him both times. He became sour from the rejection and now seeks to embarrass or belittle her whenever he has a chance. 

The King rose from his chair and Lexa followed suit. "When will you leave?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"You Are always welcome in King's Landing Your Grace. You can stay. We will have a great festival soon." 

"Thank you, my King, but I do need to return home." 

He smiles sincerely. "Shame. I was quite looking forward to meeting your brother." 

"There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. " 

"Of course. Of course. I'll see you off tomorrow then. Hopefully, I won't have to see you again after that." 

"The hope is shared. Good Evening." He bows his head respectfully and lets her leave. 

Behind her, two of her Queensgaurd follow. "I'll go sort the girl out before I retire. Then I'll expect her ready by first light tomorrow morning. I'm quite eager to have King's Landing at my back."

"Yes Your Grace," Indra says eagerly. 

"She's in the Ashen Keep." 

"Odd place to keep a prisoner isn't it?" 

"Do they do anything that isn't odd?" She can almost hear the way Anya rolls her eyes. If anyone in the world cares for southerners less that Lexa herself, it is with very little doubt, her sister. 

"Watch your tongue Ser. We are only 3 wolves in a city of a million rats." 

They ascend the high tower. Even after decades the brick and stone is blackened by the soot of dragon fire. They climb and climb further away from the earth and closer to the sky. Outside of the prisoner's room she looks out a window. No other building comes close to being this tall. If she looks ahead all she can see is open and deep blue. This is what it must be to see through the eyes of a Targaryen.

Anya opens the door and she's surprised to find three prisoners instead of one. 

"Alexandria Stark First of her Name. The Lone Wolf. Leader of the Free Folk. Queen of the First Men and the North." 

Two of the women, dressed in simple red dresses with a lioness sewn onto the right breast, bow. But the third, the Lady of Casterly Rock, does not. She turns to look back out the window without saying a word. 

“You are in the presence of a queen, girl.”

“I am not northern scum. I do not know your queen.” 

Anya’s laugh sounds like a bark, “Not only is she your queen she’s going to be your wife.”

“What?” her eyes lock directly onto Lexa.

The two ladies try and fail to contain their shock but Clarke wears her horror plainly on her face. “I would rather die.”

“I’m sure your lord friends would be happy to oblige you. They were asking to have you executed. I can go back down there and plead your case. Won’t take much convincing.”

 

“What does it matter to you if I’m alive or dead?” She spits fire. Maybe the dragons are still alive after all. 

“I know high lords have little love for you but you and your father summoned an army to fight for you. There is much love for your name in the West I’ve heard. If we are married then your friends will be my friends. I love making new friends.” 

“I won’t do it.”

“I’m afraid you have no choice. If you care about the people you’ve left behind. Your submission guarantees their safety. If you refuse Cage will have me go eradicate what left of the Westerlands. I’m sure you don’t want your people dead and I don’t want to do any more marching.”

She works her jaw but gives no answer. 

“We’ll be leaving for Winterfell tomorrow morning. It’ll take us some time to go all the way north so I suggest you pack your warmest clothes. I’ll leave some of my own guards here with you only to make sure you don’t try anything.” her eyes glance over to the window where more than one Lannisters has met their end. 

The girl grits her teeth and pins her with such an icy glare it could kill most men, but not a queen. 

And she is a queen. 

She was forged in the fire of the first men. The ice of the true north runs in her veins and winter cannot kill a wolf. 

“Indra you will stay here. I will send Lincoln up to join you.”

“Yes your Grace.” 

“Come Anya.” Without another word she sweeps from the room. She has a feeling married life is not going to suit her well. 

She affords herself one more look out the window. Someday she feels she would give anything to be able to fly into the horizon. 

Anya is perceptive enough to remain silent for the rest of the afternoon. She follows her around the palace as she finalizes her stay. She meets with one or two of the lesser lords to come to agreements on deals they made on the battlefield or just to exchange last pleasantries with two or three others. Once the shadows along the corridors stretch and evening settles she returns to her tower on the north face of the castle. She takes her supper alone and then retreats to her bed after being bathed. 

She doesn’t sleep most of the night. Mostly excited at the idea that by the new moon she’ll be home again. She thinks of her brother’s sweet face and how happy the hounds will be to have her home again. She hasn’t thought of home in a while. There’s so little time during war to think of anything other than maps and formations that she’d barely had time to sleep much less daydream about home. 

She thinks of her father and her mother and playing with her brother when he was a babe. She remembers sitting on her grandmother’s lap and playing with her beautiful red hair. She thinks of going hunting with her sister. Riding horses through the endless fields. Chasing bears through the woods. Whenever outsiders visit Winterfell they mention how cold it is in the north. To Lexa, her memories are always as warm as a summer breeze. As she slowly succumbs to the tonic of sleep she remembers a voice that reminds her of winter.

In the morning she can’t remember her dreams of Winterfell but she feels happy. She’s made happier still when her maids deem her presentable and she is allowed outside. When she steps into the sun she finds scores of Northmen. Stark colors and banners block her view of anything related to this awful city. All she sees are friendly faces, familiar faces of the family she’s always known.

Lincoln approaches her with the same relieved look she must wear on her own face. “When you’re ready your Grace.” 

“Did the girl give you trouble?”

“No. She wept most of the night. I did try to console her but-”

“Yes. I met her yesterday. She is quite frigid.”

“She’ll be right at home at least.”

They share a pointed look and a soft laugh but in truth, she does feel for the girl. So young and to be going through all this and now without even her family.

“Let’s get off then. I’d like to make it to Riverrun by week’s end.”

“At once.” With a firm nod, he’s off to the front of their procession. 

Lexa turns back to the steps outside of the Sept of Baelor. She finds the King surrounded by his regular tribe. She climbs up the steps and takes the old king’s hands. “Thank you again for inviting me to your ancestral home. I am humbled to be here.”

“It is as much yours as it is mine. Your uncle. My father. He left his mark here as well. We are all kin.”

“Yes. You are right, cousin. Then I thank you for allowing me to visit my home” she smiles at him. But her mood is soured immediately when she feels Cage prickle next to them. If not for his repugnant son Lexa might not be so eager to put distance between her and the south. But she refuses to allow the likes of him to ruin her good spirits. “And feel free to come to see your home in Winterfell. There we will call you King Snow.”

“I like the sound of that.” The way his hold tightens on her almost makes her believe that he means it.

“Farewell to you also, cousin,” Lexa says to Cage. The notion has him flaring his feathers and the knight Emerson to his left almost reaches for his sword as if she had physically assaulted him.

“I will be in Winterfell for your wedding.” Cage says it like a threat. “No one will refer to me as anything short of Prince Cage.”

“Of course. I look forward to seeing you.”

“Give your future bride my regards.” His smile makes her stomach turn. 

“Your Grace, all persons are accounted for. We are ready to leave at your pleasure.” Anya doesn’t look like she’s putting any effort in hiding her annoyance and Lexa is too relieved for an excuse to leave to be bothered. She holds the reins to Lexa’s mount as well as her own and looks as if she’s about to start tapping her foot.

“I will do.” She gives the king one last fleeting smile not knowing if she will see him again. Hoping dearly that she will not. Not under these circumstances. She takes the steps slowly and as queen-like as her muscles will allow. She takes the reigns from Anya’s hands too eagerly. 

“Let’s get out of this bloody place.”

She jumps onto her horse and is trotting off before her attendants can bring the steps to help her up. She overtakes Indra who rides next to the carriage carrying her intended. For the ride down the road through Fleabottom she keeps her steed to a reasonable gait but as soon as they cross to the other side of the gates at the City’s edge she sets off in a full gallop. 

Easily, she finds the front of their procession. Phobos, her warhorse is taller than any horse in their entire company. He had been the first horse she ever rode into battle and her most dependable. A beautiful beast with a coat so white he looks like a creature of the true north. 

She could hear the hoofbeats of Anya’s own mount somewhere not too far behind her. She’s sure it wouldn’t be long before Anya would be ordering her to slow down. To keep within striking distance of their party. Not that there is a soul alive on earth who would make a play at her life on the King’s Road of all places. Maybe one soul but it is trapped in the body of a woman sitting in a carriage she owns at the back of the procession somewhere behind her. 

Eventually, Anya does tell her to slow down. For a little bit longer she pretends she can’t hear her but she can feel Phobos starting to breathe harder and she eases him to a much slower pace. So he can rest and the rest of the group can catch up. She can still see them coming. Lincoln is somewhere in the middle between her and her troops.

“Have you told Aden?”

“That I’m returning? Of course, I sent him a raven last night. And I sent one to Castle Black as well. To Riverrun, the Vale, the Iron Islands, and the Twins as well.”

“Did you tell him who you are returning with?”

 

“I told him about her. I just didn’t say why. I’d prefer not to have that news flapping around Westeros on a raven’s wings.”

“It’s not going to be a secret for much longer. If it still is one at all.” 

“Once we’re home it won’t have to be a secret. No one can get to her in Winterfell.”

“I don’t trust her. She’s like her mother I think.”

“Her mother only did what she thought was right. She was trying to prevent a war. I'm sure she didn’t want her husband dead.”

“She knew what would happen. She went to Targeryans and told them they were going to be betrayed. I’m surprised that little lizard didn't have him burned.”

“Which is why I had to take the girl. If one of those disgusting lords didn’t turn her into a broodmare. Cage certainly would have. She would be popping out dragons for the rest of her life. I’m sure the second Cage has a son his father will fall mysteriously ill. All this loss to protect the realm will be wasted that much sooner.”

“I know why you’re doing this. You don’t owe him anything.”

“Yes, I do.”

Finally, she can hear the hoofbeats of Lincoln's horse catch up to them. “Your Grace, Lady Clarke has asked to stop.”

“Why?” Anya barks. We’ve only been on the road for a few hours. 

“One of her ladies is ill.” 

“What kind of joke is that?” 

“It’s what she said to Indra. That her lady is very ill. She’s wretched a few times apparently and would like to rest for a few minutes.”

“Is it very hard for her to rest inside the luxury of her carriage? I’m sure it’s nicer than anything she’s ever seen before.” Anya bites.

Lexa turns her horse to face the party. With one hand in the air, hundreds of hoofbeats and footfalls come to a halt in seconds. She leaves Anya and Lincoln to join Indra by the carriage. When she meets her she repeats what Lincoln had already told her. “One of them doesn't feel well.”

Lexa opens the door to the carriage herself almost being shoved away as someone from the inside pushes the door open. She falls to the ground at her horse’s feet wretching as she goes. She gives Phobos a strong pull on the reins when she sees he looks like he might give the girl a kick.

“Are you alright. I thought you’d be quite accustomed to traveling.” 

“Yes, Your Grace. Sorry, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.” the girl says from her knees. 

“She’s ill. She’s been testing my food. I fear she may have been poisoned. Gods, Octavia I’m so sorry.” 

“I’m fine my lady. Must be the road.”

“Indra go ahead and bring Lincoln to us.” Lexa jumps down from her horse and whistles for her squire passing him the reins when he arrives. “Tell the other men to give us a bit of privacy.” 

“Is something the matter?”

“Lady Clarke’s servant may be ill. If she has been poisoned I fear you may have been as well.” Lexa says looking at Clarke.

With wide eyes the thought seems to dawn on her. “Oh Gods.” She goes pale and finds her seat with a hard thud. 

 

“Fear not, Lincoln studied under maesters as a boy. He knows many things about tonics and antidotes. I’ve seen him save many lives including my own. I’m sure you’ll both be alright.”

“Thank you.” for once Clarke speak in a voice that is not laced in anger. Her voice carries a note of coarseness Lexa did not expect.

“Yes your grace.” He’s kneeling next to Octavia with a finger on her pulse and a palm on her neck. “I’ll have to do a thorough exam of her body to look for signs.” Lexa nods her head not really understanding his meaning. She’s never had much of a mind for any sort of healing. 

“Could you-” he trails off.

“Go away.” Clarke barks at her after Lexa fails to comprehend. Delicacy must be a temporary affliction for Clarke.

Lincoln stiffens but stays focused on Octavia and Indra looks like she might boil over. Thank the Gods Anya chose not to join them or she may not have gotten a chance to get Clarke might not ever have seen Winterfell.

“Oh. Yes.” In any circumstance, she would have a person dead before they could raise their voice to her but in a little over a few months, she’ll be sharing her life and her bed with the woman. Best to let her yell lest her pent up frustrations turn into assassination attempts. “Apologies.” Lexa backs away from the carriage. “Come Indra. You can join Anya and I. We’ll press on slowly until dusk.”

The squire brings back her horse and Lincoln steps into the carriage with Octavia and Clarke.

She finds Anya with an incredulous look on her face. It’s Anya that starts them on her way again with a click of her tongue the footfalls and hoofbeats resume as quickly as they stopped. 

They ride together in silence from then until they reach a small town between King’s Landing and Harenhall. The king offered silver stags to villages that accommodate the queen on her ride north so the people were happy to find them beds and a cup of wine.

She’s in the town brothel, lent to her for the night, leaning over her supper when Lincoln finds her again. 

“She’ll survive,” he says simply very relieved. 

“Was it poison?”

 

“I believe so. The girl Octavia seems like she got a very mild dose. Lady Clark did not show any signs but I gave her a dose of the antidote regardless.”

“Thank you, Lincoln. You’ll be rewarded once we arrive home.”

“It is my privilege to serve you.”

“And it will be a great service to me if you receive your praise and gifts with no fuss.”

 

“Thank you.”

“Go have some dinner and rest if that’s all.” He nods and shakes hands with two guards Gustus and Ryder who are with her during night hours. 

Once she’s finished her supper she writes another letter to Aden detailing her trip so far. 

She’s lost three fingers of height from her candle when she hears someone enter the empty brothel. It must not be a threat because neither of her guards move. She turns from the book she had started reading to find Luna in the doorway in front of Clarke. “Lady Clarke would like to speak with you, Your Grace.”

“Please, come in.” Clarke steps into the candlelight wearing more a more casual dress than she had been in the day. The lights flicker against her skin and Lexa sees her for the first time. She’s heard many tales of the beauty of House Lannister but she’s never seen such a beautiful woman in all her life. Her hair is yellow like cornfields. The features of her face are prominent and delicate. Her eyes can’t settle on any point eager to drink in as much beauty as they can absorb from the gentle slope of her nose to the ample curves of her lips she finds a charming dimple pressed right in the center of her chin. Her skin is smooth save for an odd freckle here or there. Here eyes do linger when she finds the dip between her breasts she must linger too long because the girl clears her throat. 

Her eyes are not soft or inviting like the rest of her features. They are cold and judgemental. “I had come to thank you for your actions earlier. I wasn’t expecting you to be so gentle to me.”

“Yes well, you should consider being gentler in return.”

“Excuse me?” 

“That. I have been very tolerant of your outbursts thus far but no longer. 

“I-”

“No. I am not finished. You will address me as Your Grace when you speak to me, always, and you will do so in the manner of a lady. If you ever speak to me the way you did today or yesterday for that matter I will cut out your tongue. You are not to interrupt me when I speak you will respond when spoken to. I will afford you the same respect. Now you may speak.

“Yes.” Her jaw tightens but she is able to grit out, “Your Grace.”

“If you need anything else while we are here or at any time during our trip please bring it to my attention.”

Her jaw works a few times before she turns and leaves with a huff. When she’s gone Gustus lets out a grunt. “Yes, I know.”

The following days are far less eventful than the first. They make their scheduled stops along the King’s Road. They make the occasional extra stop to water the horses or rest their feet but otherwise, their journey is uninterrupted. Clarke does not speak to Lexa again. Every so often her ladies will walk along the road to stretch their legs but she never so much as pokes her head out to admire the view. In fact, her windows stay firmly shut with the blinds drawn for the entirety of their trip. Lexa almost forgets about her by the time they reach the twins and doesn’t think about her again until they reach Moat Cailin. 

Once they get to Moat Cailin she lingers in the towns for a day or two before she presses on. Slowing down leaves her quite pensive. Perhaps leaving Clarke to marinate in her anger is not wise. Why is she so deeply angry. And who with? How much does she truly know about the war? Should she speak to her or leave her be? It doesn't take long for her to decide asking so many questions she knows no answer to will drive her mad so she goes to call upon Lady Clarke herself. 

She finds her in her carriage as she refuses to sleep in any tent they build for her as if the carriage was not also Lexa's. She knocks once and one of Clarke's ladies answers the door. Not Octavia, the other one. "Good evening Your Grace." 

"Hello. Miss-" 

"Raven. 

"Yes, Raven. I wanted to speak to Lady Clarke" 

"Oh." Her face looks like it may turn a bit green. "Uhm. I think she isn't feeling well." She hears a cough from inside. She's sure it was meant to sound phony. 

"Is she ill. I can call Lincoln." 

"No, she is not ill. Just not feeling well." 

“Then why don't you and Octavia go have a meal by the fire I’ll look after her while you’re gone. It must be very cold for you here." 

Raven looks back into the carriage like she might actually protest if Clarke asks it of her. "Thank you, your grace."

She offers her hand to both ladies as they step down and then closes the door behind her when steps inside. 

"I came to check on you." 

"How considerate of you, your grace." Her appearance from the beginning of the trip has changed. She looks paler. Almost grey in the darker space of the carriage. She's thinner now after almost a month of refusing nearly all the food they brought her. 

"For some time I just assumed you were comfortable being waited on by countless servants in this luxurious carriage I afforded you. But then I thought on it and it occured to me that a woman of your lineage and history probably doesn't normally spend so much time so quiet and so idle. Wouldn't be in this mess if that were the case would you?" She leans into the bench across from Clarke. 

She looks pasted Lexa at something the queen can not see. 

"I asked you before not to ignore me, Clarke. It's very rude." 

"I am not ignoring you. Your Grace. You told me to speak to you like a lady. My aim is to do so but first I must conjure up something polite to say." 

Lexa laughs. She can admire the woman for finding a way to sound polite while being entirely belligerent. 

"Okay. Then I will talk. And you can listen until you think of something." 

Clarke doesn't argue.

"We're about two days north of Moat Cailin. Still about a week south of Winterfell. You should open your windows for the rest of the journey. You'll be Queen of these lands. You should admire them the North is very beautiful." 

"No thank you." 

Lexa breathes out exasperated. "I am trying to make this easier for you." 

"What a kind thief you are." 

"A thief? I saved your life." 

"Saved me from what exactly? Reuniting with my family. That you murdered." 

"I did not. You and your father plunged the realm into another war and for what? " 

"I do not need a Stark to lecture me on the costs of starting war." 

"My family fights against tyrants as it always has.”

“Oh does it. I’m always hearing about how the North remembers, the North remembers yet you bloody idiots can’t even remember your own history.”

Lexa snaps up from her seat the full height of her authority looms over Clarke.

“I know history! Better than you! You challenge Targaryeans. Like they don’t always find their way to that bloody fucking throne. You and your idiot father.” 

“You couldn’t even reach my father’s heel. He was a better man than the entire lot of you.” 

“Aye he was, and now he’s dead.” 

 

“My father-” Her whole body shakes with anger, or maybe it’s grief, “My father tried to protect the realm. You don’t care about the south because they are not your people. Your carelessness guaranteed a madman a seat on the Iron Throne.” Clarke blinks. She blinks and blinks but can’t help the tears that flow over. “He is dead and to honor his life I’ll marry the woman who helped bury him.” 

“I brought you with because I was trying to help you-” 

 

“If you wanted to help me you would have let me die. In my own country. Not robbed me of my home and my freedom.”

“You are not a prisoner.”

“You’re going to lock me behind the gates of Winterfell for the rest of my life. You’re going to force yourself on me for the rest of yours.” She doesn’t fight the tears anymore. “You may call me your lady or your queen but I will only ever be your hostage. I’m so sorry if my disinterest in your beautiful lands has offended you, Your Grace.” 

Lexa shrinks. She feels small. For the first time since she became queen, she feels like nothing. She burns with regret and shame. “I’m sorry.” is all she can bear. “I wanted to help. I’m sorry.” 

“You didn’t.”

Her heart sinks when she searches for vindication but finds none. Her words are true and the truth is deafening. It makes her ears ring. She tries to step outside without making a fuss but she must look as ghastly as she feels because Gustus and Ryder are stepping forward to catch her. She’s known. Of course. She knew when she agrees to fight for Dante that defeating the Lannisters was defeating the last threat against the Targeryens. But she did it any way she had to. She had to. She had to? 

Gustus is holding up most of her weight when she says, “I’m fine. I got lightheaded. It’s too warm in there.” 

They look skeptical but they would never pry, “I’m fine. Just needed air.”

She gathers herself before she joins the others by the firepit. She won’t let herself be consumed by this guilt again. Her duty is to her people. 

“Your grace,” Someone calls to her, “Come join us. Come tell us a story.”

She smiles only a bit nauseous, “Which would you like to hear?”

 

She can finally see Winterfell. After a year away the tower of the Great Keep crests over the hills. Her horse instinctively picks up the pace. This time Anya does not argue. 

They are welcomed in Wintertown by whaling women, screaming children, barking dogs. The men leave their work to greet them the children leave their toys and their games. After a year she’s less than an hour from home. They stroke her legs or her horse as she rides through the crowd. She’s dressed for the occasion. Her crown on her head and her cape draped over her shoulders she portrays her part very well. And the people adore her for it. 

The road from Wintertown to the gates seems like the longest of all. But she sees Maester Titus waiting at the gate with her brother and she’s so happy to see them she forgets all of her agonies. 

Aden’s face looks like it will split at any moment. Her horse has barely stopped before she’s jumping down to hold him. She’s got him wrapped in her arms off the ground before he can get down to bow. 

Maester Titus takes a moment to scowl disapprovingly before he is down on his knee. The entire rest of the house has come out to meet her. “Rise, please all of you.” She feels pride bursting from her heart. 

The carriage pulls up behind her into the yard and she cringes as Titus’s eyes lock onto hers.  
The servants begin shuffling around helping the travelers from their horses unburdening them from the weights on their backs or in their arms.

"Lady Clarke, Welcome to Winterfell." Anya says in an empty voice.

But the words bring back memories of Clarke’s accusations from the week before it leaves Lexa feeling sick.

"Ser Anya. Please show my lady to her chambers. Make sure she is comfortable. Ser Lincoln you can show her ladies to the servant quarters make sure they are comfortable. When you are ready you may join my brother and me in the Great Hall." 

She gives Clarke a parting nod and hands her mount to the stable boy. 

As she walks in the front door to the Great Keep and she feels her heart swell. For so long she's felt listless. Starks belong in the North and from the moment she marched through the Twins she felt her soul settle. But behind the high walls of Winterfell her heart feels whole. 

For a moment she aches for the Lannister girl who will never feel that again.


	2. Clarke Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went back and edited the first chapter better. I got too excited and jumped the gun and there were some egregious errors in there. Sorry about that. I tried to be much more careful this go around.

The candor of northern hostility is so blunt it sometimes leaves Clarke dizzy. They keep their friends close and their families closer. No room for enemies in their company

 

“I know your blood better than you. I’ve split open enough southerners to know. I’ve seen what you’re made of.” 

 

She’s accustomed to and well versed in, the kind of cunning and nefarious scheming her country is built on. These people do not waste their words on pondering drawn-out conversations, or profound thoughtful pauses between snipes. There was no need for such forethought or double entendre when they spoke.

 

She imagines they must speak as soon as any thought crosses their mind, regardless of how half-formed or prudent that thought may be. Perhaps it’s what they want people to believe and in truth, they are secretly very thoughtful and clever. If that is the case, it doesn’t show.  

 

“If I so much get a whiff that you’re plotting something I’ll slit your throat.”

 

It’s an odd thing to listen to the knight casually spout threats to her and then in the same breath greet the resident population of the castle. People offer her affectionate welcomes and make a curious inquiry about her time way. She answers them all in stride with charming waves and friendly smiles, or promises of many stories to be told. 

 

No one speaks to her, of course. They don’t ask about her or even look at her if they can avoid it. They let her pass through their home on the queen’s order, but they do not want her there

 

It is deceptively large, their home. Dwarfed by the vastness of the lands surrounding it, but as she walks around enough towers, and homes, and workshops to constitute a small village she realizes the formidable magnitude of Winterfell and by extension. 

 

“Hurry up, this isn’t a tour.” Anya barks so much she wonders if she isn't the one that's part wolf.

 

Of all of them, Anya is the least pleasant by far and the most threatening. Not much taller than herself she still manages a way to somehow always be looming over her.

Whenever she is in Lincoln's custody he makes attempts to comfort her. Indra doesn’t say much, in fact, she mostly ignores Clarke, like she’s watching a parcel or an animal. Not that any of them really speak at all. She hasn’t even seen the others enough to know how they manifest their displeasure at her existence. She’s deduced from what little she sees of them that Lexa has them all on rotation. Three are with her in the day and three at night. She sends one of the three to be with Clarke at all times. 

As of this morning, she has been in Anya's company, who has only spoken to her once since they became acquainted in King's Landing. She hasn’t become any less hostile since then. Every word she says is spat like venom from a viper’s fangs. 

 

At the top one of the smallest towers behind the Great Keep Anya brings her to a small room with a bed in the middle. There is a window opposite the door, just wide enough that she might stick her head through it, and in front of it is a small round table paired with a lone chair. Anya practically pushes her inside.

 

"Are you wanting for anything, my lady?" Anya grits her teeth like any display of hospitality is physically wounding her.

 

"When will Octavia and Raven be returned to me?." 

 

"They will be with you after they are shown the routine of the castle.” she’s turning out the door before Clarke can breathe, “If that's all." 

 

"Thank you, Ser. I'm very comfortable." Clarke has enough awareness to wonder who looks more ridiculous throwing verbal jabs like children, a lady or a knight. 

 

The knight’s hand tightens around the hilt of her sword. "I will find some house servants for you until they are available."  Her smile is tight enough to turn her lips pale. 

 

It is difficult to find agency in one’s own prison cell. She can do little more than fold her arms and storm over to the window and ignore the knight until she’s gone.

 

Anya closes the door with enough force to kick up the dust lingering on the few surfaces in the room.

 

All she can see from the thin slit of a window is a high wall and beyond it is flat, barren land that looks like it goes on without end. 

 

It reminds her of her striking view from Casterly Rock. The way the sun would glint across the water of the sea in the morning or the beautiful white rocks of the cliffs at the edge of the estate. There were days so vibrant she could have spent hours staring at the seam between the seas and the heavens and never tell the two apart. She remembers the salty smell of the sea that seemed infused into the air or the sounds of the roar of the waves beating the shore that put her to sleep when the castle was quite. 

 

Here everything is grey or black or white. The few things there are to look at are either ugly or dead or both and the freezing air and constant smoke burn her eyes and her nose. When she was a girl all she wanted was to explore the world. She would dream of going south of Dorne and North of the Wall. Now, she would give anything to go home. 

 

“How can I go on without you?” a sob jerks free from her ribs. She tries to fight it back painfully but to little avail. She finds herself weeping almost constantly since her father’s death. Around company, she can usually put her thoughts away and pretend she’s living through a nightmare, but in any moment she finds herself alone she realizes she with haunting clarity that she isn’t going to wake up. The hollow feeling in her chest isn’t the jolt of her body waking up it’s the wound left behind from her nightmares coming true. 

 

Sometime later, a few loud rasps against the door force her tears to dry and she wipes her cheeks roughly before allowing the person to enter. Thre women come through the door one of them holds a chest that carries all Clarke has left in the world. A few months ago she was among the most powerful women in Westeros. She had power, autonomy, and authority. Now she's to be some foreigner's neutered trophy. 

 

"M'lady, I’m Echo and these are Harper and Monroe, if it please ya, how may we serve?" 

 

"You needn't. Thank you." 

 

"The queen has invited ya to sup with her. She'll be introducin’ ya to her brother, the Prince." 

 

"Wonderful." her tone is too harsh contrasted against the servant’s warm voice. 

 

None of them seem fazed by her rudeness she continues on as if Clarke had said nothing at all, "M'lady's probably wanting for a bath and fresh clothes to meet with his Highness."

 

"No. As I said, I am not in need of your service. You may leave my things and go."

 

They do as they’re asked and are polite enough to courtesy on their way out. Once they’re gone she goes to her chest. When she opens it there’s even less in it than there was in King’s Landing.  The purse she had hidden is gone along with all the money in it. Her sketchbook and most painfully they’ve stolen her father’s tunic. Embroidered with three lions on the front it was the very last thing she had of him. She looks through the entire chest twice but there are only a few things left in it. It’s gone and with it her last physical connection to her father. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


When Anya returns the light from outside is gone. At some point, her eyes had run out of tears to shed but she can feel stains of past misery tracked on her cheeks. She clutches the open chest a little tighter when Anya enters.  “Crying on the floor. You look like a bloody idiot. “

 

“Fuck you.” she nearly growls. 

 

The words boil with so much vitriol it sounds like someone else’s voice had spoken them. She was taught, very sensibly, never to pick a fight she couldn’t win. Her father taught her that lesson with his life and here she sits provocating a woman who feels it necessary to carry dual swords in her own home when only an empty box sits between them. Maybe she is an idiot.

 

She expects rage or violence, but the knight laughs like she’s amused. “I thought you a sheep, but seems you may be a lion after all.” 

 

She steps further into the room and grabs Clarke by the elbows to lift her up from her heap on the floor. Her grip is strong but not painful. She pulls a little square of silk fabric from her pocket and wipes away the tears with a stroke of the thumb. 

 

“If you must cry do it with some dignity, and drape yourself over the furniture like a lady. The floor is not a place for a future queen.” She shoves the pocket square into her hand, too rough for such a kind gesture. “Come on. Monarchs don’t like to be kept waiting.” 

 

Winterfell is more intimidating at night. The full moon is bright and unobscured in the clear sky casting shadows like secrets around every corner. The daylight betrays its ancient origins, but now Clarke feels the millennia of history this castle has been witness to creeping up her spine like a ghost.

She shudders at the feeling.

 

Anya scoffs clearly recognizing it, “Don’t worry. The crypts keep the phantoms in their graves.”

 

As they get close to the Great Hall the periodic guard becomes a more frequent presence and the increased amount of torchlight helps to dilute the haunting spell the night casts. Anya leads her into the Great Hall where it appears every resident of Winterfell, save for the few dozen guards outside, has managed to find a seat.

The people have all packed into the room like sheep into a pen. They graze on their plates like they do their neighbor’s. They share their drinks like most people share oxygen.  There is isn’t a clean beard as far as the eye can see. Even the queen at the end of the hall at a table with the remainder of her Queensgaurd and a young boy, who can only be the prince, are completely engrossed by the atmosphere.  

 

Then Anya dismantles the scene with a voice louder than a church bell. “Your Grace. Your Highness, and the rest of you I present the Lady Clarke.” 

 

Silence sweeps into the room and settles like an unwelcomed guest. 

 

“Thank you Anya, you may join us if you like.” Lexa waves her over

 

Anya grabs a pint of ale from the nearest table corner and holds it high over her head. Then, she’s gone. 

 

She’s probably never been in a more tightly filled room in her life. And she feels utterly alone. 

 

The queen stands and her guests race to join her the quickest. Even with everyone on their feet surrounded by men easily twice her size the queen’s presence towers above them all. “My Lady, Welcome to Winterfell.”

 

Clarke almost jumps out of her skin and her dress when the hoard echoes her in one voice. “Welcome to Winerfell.”

 

Then she continues. “Please come join us.” 

 

All eyes return to her expectantly. She can feel the queen’s eyes most of all watching her the entire way across the room. Clarke refuses to meet them until she reaches the table. The queen and her brother have the same eyes Clarke notices immediately looking between them. Cool, vivid green. The queen’s are hard and piercing like uncut emerald but his are forgiving and vibrant like a blossoming forest.

 

“Prince Aden Stark, this is the Lady Clarke. Jake Lannister’s daughter.” His name makes her heartbeat painfully in her chest and to hear it fall so flippantly from the lips of a stranger has her prickling.

 

The prince easily consumes her attention when he reaches across the table with both hands. “Well met, my lady. I am glad to have you with us.”

 

She takes his hands and his smile brightens. “Well met, my prince.” He gives her hand a firm shake and presses a kiss against her knuckles. 

 

The queen sits back down without making any move to touch her. Clarke hears the collective thud of everyone returning to their seats and the hum of their voices pick back up as they return to their own more interesting conversations.

 

“I wasn’t sure what you would like so I had the kitchen prepare a few dishes,” Lexa says without looking at her. She rings a bell and servants from the kitchen, including Octavia, bring more food even though the table already has more food than any of them could eat in a month. 

 

“Octavia has been in the kitchen since she arrived this morning and she’s tasted all the food so you may feel comfortable.”  The queen offered when she says nothing 

 

She watches Octavia set down a few plates in front of her. “The soup is very good, m’lady.” 

 

Clarke had promised her everything. Both of them. Titles and lands for helping her help her father. Now they’ll be forced to live the rest of their lives as servants or expose themselves as traitors. She feels guilt twist itself into a knot in her throat. 

 

“Are you well, Lady Clarke? You look a bit green.”  Aden asks his eyebrows pinched together in concern

 

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don't have much of an appetite.”

 

“You’ve hardly eaten in a month.” the queen’s voice is clipped. “I arranged all of this for you. There’s enough food here to feed Wintertown and you-” 

 

“She must be tired from her travel, Lexa.” the boy with dark yellow hair, more like maple than sunshine, interrupts. 

 

“And she will feel more tired still if she continues to starve.”

 

“Pardon your Grace, I didn’t mean to offend. I meant to say that I couldn’t possibly eat all this food. It’s very kind of you to be so thoughtful.” Clarke can’t completely fight off the corner of her mouth twitching up as she watches Aden swoon at her honied words. 

 

But the queen is different. She watches Clarke with skeptical eyes. 

 

When Clarke was born the winter that brought snow to Casterly Rock and Alexandria Stark into the world had already succumbed to summer. Most people believe she was conceived when her father plunged his sword into the heart of a wolf, that she was reared by a pack of dire wolves and nursed by the Old Gods. 

 

Women with reputations like hers don’t play other people’s games. But the queen doesn’t know that Clarke has a reputation of her own. 

 

She curtsies like she used to as a child in front of her father’s friends and sits across from the queen. “The soup you, said? Will you serve me?” She smiles at Octavia like she did when she watched her knock her dope of a brother on his ass. 

 

“Yes, my lady. Enjoy." As she leaves she gives Clarke’s shoulder a squeeze. 

 

Once the servants are gone Aden is quick to fill the silence. “Lady Clarke, I am glad you’re here. I was wondering if you could settle a spat for us.” His smile contrasts sharply against the annoyance on the queen’s face. “Is it true that Casterly Rock is 3 times as high as The Wall?”

 

“As far as I know, my prince. All of our history books tell of the feat that is The Rock. Though I suppose our books may be a bit bias.” 

 

Aden balks at Lexa. “That’s incredible. If I were you, Lexa I’d have never come back down.” 

 

She scoffs at the idea. “Too close to the sun for my taste.” 

 

“Yes well, at least you don’t have to worry about freezing your tits off.” 

 

Aden isn’t like the other Northerners she’s met. In the time it takes Clarke to eat one bowl of soup he has smiled and laughed more than any of the others since she met them over a month before. He’s like a ray of warmth keeping the entire place from freezing over. He laughs with his whole heart and it’s infectious enough to draw a laugh from Clarke as well.

 

The maester on the other side of Lexa looks as amused by Clarke’s joke as the queen that is to say not at all.

 

If Aden notices the drastic change in their moods he doesn’t care in the slightest. In fact, he’s so delighted by her he doesn’t speak to Lexa again for the rest of the evening. Not that she seems at all bothered by the idea. 

 

Some of the candles are beginning to go out when Lexa declares that the feast is over She allows them the freedom to continue their festivities in the courtyard but is sure to remind them that they are all expected to report to their duties no later than they would normally do.

 

“I’ll have a word with you, Lady Clarke.” She directs the next word to her brother. “Alone.”

 

He gives Clarke a look like a puppy being scolded by its master. “It was my pleasure, my sweet lady. I look forward to seeing you again.” He leaves her with another brush of his lips against the back of her palm.

 

She smiles prettily at him but the muscles go flaccid when she looks back at the queen. 

 

It takes some time for the entire hall to empty but only when everyone has gone does the queen speak. “We’ll be married in two months. On the day I will naturalize you as a citizen of the North and once we are married I will have you recognized as a Stark. I have inherited half of your gold. The other half will be distributed amongst the lords with enough collective brain to leave well enough alone. Your lands and your titles will be given away to Ser Emerson.” 

 

With a handful of words, the queen destroys the remains of Clarke's battered life. She delivers one devastating blow after another and all without a flicker of emotion on her face.

 

Obviously, Clarke knew she would never see her home again. Of course, they would take what is hers by rights. 

 

But having the queen strip her down to nothing. Reliving her of any agency or hope that she had of escaping this sentence leaves her bare. 

 

Her anger boils in her chest. She can hardly look at the queen for fear of lashing out. 

 

"I heard what you said. Your words on the King's Road moved me. I cannot return to you what you've lost but I-"

 

"I haven't lost anything!" Clarke rises from her seat faster than the blood in her head can keep up with. "Everything has been taken from me."

 

Gustus takes a reflexive step forward to her credit the queen is not roused she brushes him off with a swipe of her wrist, "I understand how-"

 

"How? How can you possibly understand?"  She slams her hands against the table. The warnings of self-preservation whistling loudly in her ears are deafened by the roar of her anger. "You are a vile coward and a warmonger. The realm will bleed because of you."

 

"You are speaking to a Queen. I've warned you before. Gods help me if I have to tell you again it'll be the end of you." she says with an infuriating amount of indifference.

 

"Do it then!” The queen’s reservation only serves to fuel her own anger. What more do I have to lose? You think I care so much for my own life? That I would prefer to keep it in exchange for licking your boots. What do I even have to live for?" 

 

Gustus unsheathes half of his blade she can see its metal glint in the remaining candlelight. With everything coursing in her blood at once she can't even feel fear. At least when she dies she'll have her dignity. They can't take it from her like her title or her lands or even her name. She was born proud and so will she die.

 

"Listen to me, you spiteful woman.” The queen doesn’t need to stand to be imposing but she does slam her fist on the table, just to make her case. “I will never apologize to you for protecting the North. I would paint the entire world red with your blood for my people. I did what I did with no regrets and would do so again. You are a naive, idealistic child. I will not explain myself to you. Gustus," the guard stands impossibly straighter "get her out of my sight before she says something she regrets." 

 

Gustus rounds the table and takes Clarke by the elbow in a tight grip easily pulling her away from the queen. 

 

He doesn't speak to her the entire way back to her room. He's never spoken to her at all before so she is not expecting to learn his voice until he stops in front of her door, "the next time you speak to her you will show respect or I will have your guts on the floor."

 

"You know where I come from the knights at least have the common decency to pretend they are gentlemen."

 

"I am not a pretend knight. I am a knight of the Queensgaurd. I do not care about being polite. I care about the queen." To illustrate his point clearly he shoves her into the room then slams the door behind her.

 

"He seems great and not at all like an ass." As soon as Clarke registered Raven's face her anger melts away. 

 

"Oh, Raven!" She throws her arms around her friend. "I've never been happier to see your face. Are you alright? What have they done to you?" She takes her in. She notices that they've replaced the dress she was wearing and changed her hair. Just as they’d done to Octavia.

 

Raven has always gotten straight to business so it doesn't surprise Clarke that her questions go unanswered. She gets right into delivering a hushed report of their time apart.

 

"They've given me a look around. I noted at least 3 spots from which we could send crows that I don't think they would notice. And maybe one spot where we could escape from " 

 

"We need to get in contact with Wells as quickly as possible," she matches her whisper

 

"I know. Do you think he received your last message"

 

"I don't know. If anyone else had gotten it we would all be dead." 

 

"I'll figure out how to get us a crow. Have you heard anything from Octavia?" 

 

"I saw her at supper but I didn't have a chance to speak with her. But she is ready. We all have to be ready the queen told me today that we'll be married in two months." the memory sparking an idea to life in her mind.

 

"So we'll have two months to get out of here, then.”

 

"No, Raven." the revelation hits her like she’s been physically struck, "the prince will come here and that will be our chance to make our move."  

 

"We can’t. If he dies here. It’ll start a war with the North."

 

“Exactly.”

 

“But-” 

 

A knock on the door makes Clarke's blood run cold. One person can only be caught plotting treason so many times.

 

"No thank you." Clarke answers which earns her a swat on the arm. 

 

"Its Echo, m’lady. I’ve brought you some nightclothes." 

 

Clarke is about to protest when Raven grabs her by the collar of her dress. "You’ve been wearing the same dress for weeks." 

 

Clarke concedes, "Come in."

 

Echo enters carrying a pile of clothes half as tall as she is, hopefully, ignorant to the conspiracy she has walked in on. “I hope you’ll find something that suits you.”

 

"Thank you. I apologize for my behavior earlier. I hope I have not offended you." Clarke says with artificial sweetness to mask their scent.

 

"No offense was taken, m'lady." 

 

“If it’s not too much trouble I will have that bathe tomorrow morning.” 

 

"Of course, m'lady.” she looks hesitant to say anything that might devolve Clarke back to hostility. “The queen asked that I tell ya she'll be takin' a trip to Wintertown tomorrow and that you’re welcome to join her." 

 

"Oh." Clarke has to fight back the anger at the mention of the queen. "Thank you."

 

“Would you like me to help you ready for bed.”

 

“No. No, Raven is here. She’ll do.”

 

“There’s a bed ready for ya down in the servant's quarters when you finish here,” she tells Raven. 

 

“Thank you much.” Raven drawls. Clarke smiles at the maid until after she’s gone.

 

“Seven hells we should not have lied about your accent.” Clarke tries to bury her fingers into her temples

 

“It isn’t my fault! It was easier to do your shit accent when I was surrounded by you lot.” the other woman shouts as loudly as possible.

 

“You need to get it together. If we get caught-”

 

“Me! What about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“I heard that man threatening you.” Clarke looks away indigent and unable to hold her eyes. 

 

Raven grabs her by the shoulders. “If you die your father lost his life in vain. I lost everything. Octavia lost everything all for not.” 

 

"I know that!” 

 

“So. Do what it is you do. That woman looks at you like wine in the Red Waste. Let her have a drink.”

 

“It’s not that simple Raven, you know it. She’s not like the rest of us. I don’t think she even feels desire. I don’t think she feels anything. If she were a man I’d think her a eunuch.”

 

“So get close to her. Find out what she wants.” Raven turns her around and begins untying her dress. “We’re missing something. I’ve been chewing on this for a year now and I still haven’t the slightest what possessed her to join the war.”

 

The dress falls away “So our next move is to get answers.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is gonna be longer than 4 chapters for sure. I hope that the little bread crumbs are good hints without being completely obvious or so obscure that no one can see them Let me know what you think:)
> 
> If you wanna talk about this or whatever come on over. cuddlypoodle.tumblr.com


	3. Lexa Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone leaving feedback. And also sorry for making you mad at Lexa, but also not really lol.

"Do you think she'll come?" Aden acts carefully brushing out his horse's mane. Their love of the stables is a passion she and her brother have always shared. After their mother died they grew closer raising their dogs and their horses.

"I doubt it. I'd be surprised if she does." 

Aden laughs scratching a scruff of short whiskers on his cheek. "She certainly is something else." 

"You can have her if you want." Lexa chuckles with a teasing smile working the buckles on her mare’s saddle. 

"Shut up." He says it without malice. His voice, though completely different from when she’d last heard it almost a year before, is one of the few comforting sounds she knows. His voice sounds more and more like their father's every day but it still cracks into boyhood more often than not. He's taller than her now and his hair is shorter than before. "I admire her. Anyone brave enough to get in a shouting match with you deserves my respect. Plus, she's very interesting to talk to." 

"Be careful Aden, I don't know how well she can be trusted. I’ve never known a Lannister to be docile.” 

“Do you think she’s like her father?”

“If she’s half as bright as her father she’s already too smart for her own good.” She feeds the horse a few sugar cubes from her palm to put her in a good mood. She knows how the beast hates their visits to Wintertown. Across from them, Phobos kicks the stall envious that Lexa would take his mother before him. Though she is not far better tempered than he is she is far less likely to take out her frustration by biting curious children.

"Maybe once she gets to know us better she'll like us enough to plot in our favor.” 

“That sort of optimism is the quickest way to find a dagger in your heart.” 

“Daggers do not frighten me.” He boasts beating on his chest. 

“Spoken like a true king.” Lexa rolls her eyes.

“Thank you.” He bows deeply, never serious. 

“It was not meant as a compliment, fool.” she hopes she can leave her brother the kind of world that will be merciful to his tender heart. If she is a good queen perhaps the world could even admire him for it. 

“I will choose to take it as a compliment.” 

Just then a piercing scream cuts through the air and deep into her spine. The sleeping stable hounds are jolted awake and begin barking at the abrupt noise.   
"Aden stay here."

"But I-"

"Stay." she waits until his pout indicates that he will listen, then she’s rushing toward the source of the sound quicker than she can fully process what could be happening. She's hardly been back one day.

 

When she runs into the courtyard she finds Clarke flat on the ground and actively getting a good eyeful of Spirit. The animal is looming completely on top of her. Her muzzle inches from the lady’s face, with something, presumably formerly Clarke’s, between her teeth. Three servants try to push the wolf away with brooms or sticks but she looks thrilled to have so many people playing with her.

“Spirit!” 

Her head whips around at the sound of Lexa’s voice. And she instantly loses interest in Clarke. She bounds over to Lexa tail wagging and drops her chest to the ground ready to play. “Bad girl. Spirit. You know better than to jump on your guests.” Lexa says in a firm voice and she knows the wolf understands when she tucks her tail between her legs. 

“Drop it,” she says with a finger pointed at the ground. She picks up the tattered leather glove that falls from Spirit’s mouth.

“Bad wolf.” She gives the wolfs great head a wack with the back end of the glove she flops onto her side showing her underbelly with a remorseful whine. Lexa’s feels her heart crumple but she leaves her whimpering on the ground. 

“Please excuse me, Lady Clarke. She’s normally much more well behaved.” She looks around the courtyard until she finds who she needs. “Echo please bring the lady a new set of gloves.”

She kneels down by Clarke who has gathered enough wherewithal to sit herself up but can’t seem to peel her eyes away from the beast who’s still on the ground and looking absolutely offended that Lexa would ignore her. “She startled me,” Clarke says her cheeks tinted pink.

“Don’t feel embarrassed. She startles everyone. Most people faint when they see her.” 

“I-I didn’t know wolves grew to that size.”

“Oh, she’s a dire wolf,” she scratches at the back of her neck so that her hands have somewhere to be. 

“A real one?”

“Yes.” Lexa smiles, she’s always loved the light born in the eyes of a person seeing magic for the first time. “I think she’s a bit of a mutt. My father had three.” When she is certain Clarke will not faint she heaves herself back up and offers Clarke a hand to lift herself off the ground. “They were huge. Each one was as bigger than a horse.”

Clarke takes it still watching the wolf now trotting off to find Aden or Luna to soothe her pride, no doubt. When she notices their hands intertwined she is quick to yank it away. She tries to ignore how it stings. 

“They aren’t here, are they?” She looks around anxiously. 

She shakes her head, “Gone. They don’t live for hundreds of years like dragons. Only as long as a person, usually.” 

“Are you alright, Your Grace, we heard shouting.” Indra looks down from the balcony ruffled but not alarmed.

“Oh, yes. All is well. Just playing a game with Spirit.” 

Indra looks at them skeptical but nods anyway, “We are ready when you are.” 

“May I presume you came to join us on our visit?” oddly, she finds herself pleasantly surprised when the girl nods her head.

“I did.”

“I’ll have your carriage readied for-”

“I can take a horse...uhm, Your Grace.” Clarke amends quickly. 

“There you are, Your Grace.” Echo jogs over to them with her skirts in one hand and gloves in another. 

“A thousand blessings to you, Echo.” She takes the gloves and hands them to Clarke. “Let’s get off then lads. I’d like to be in town before Niylah runs out of her sweet peaches.” 

Just as Lexa is about to call for the stable boy, Aden walks into the courtyard with three reins in hand and the Queensgaurd in tow. He hands Lexa her reins and then hands another to Lady Clarke. “I am always prepared, my Queen.” 

“Luna will you make sure, Lady Clarke finds her way around today.”

“I’d be honored, Your Grace.” 

Indra helps the lady to step onto her horse and Anya take off to the gate to make sure the men who are joining them are ready. She finds it a tad ludicrous that half the castle needs to be involved in a one hour ride down the road. Lincoln moves behind them accounting for all the men.

Lexa climbs onto her horse and joins Anya at the front gate. The clouds are heavy it’s just cold enough for a dusting of snow if they choose to linger. 

“She’s going to freeze to death in that little deerskin rag.”

She looks over her shoulder at Clarke whos adjusting her self onto her horse. She looks like a God had picked her up and dropped her into the North by mistake. Her bright red silk dress does nothing to blend in with the black and brown leather and thick fur cloaks traditional of Northerners not even her boots are tall enough to keep her feet dry in the muck. She certainly won’t be warm. 

“I’m afraid of saying the wrong thing to her. I only just spoke more than ten words to her without her screaming at me. I don’t want to offend her.”

“You’re afraid?” Anya looks at her with an incredulous brow. “She almost shit herself because of your dog.” 

She presses her heel against her horse’s belly and she starts down the road. “I’m helping you. If she likes me then you can rest peacefully knowing she isn’t smothering me in my sleep.” 

Anya laughs without a trace of humor. “I’ll never worry. When she starts sleeping in your bed. So will I.”

She knows her sister isn't joking but the thought has her in fits all the same. 

Somewhere behind them she hears Aden's chattering. 

A flock of crows carrying the invitations to her wedding fly overhead. 

When she was young, her mother would spend countless hours planning her future wedding while she braided her hair. She tried hard to imagine what her mother was picturing. The grandest wedding in the history of the North. Her father walking her into the Godswood where she would meet her prince. I beautiful boy with eyes as green as hers. But not as pretty she would add. The wedding feast would be grand with every lord in the realm there to watch. But when Lexa imagined her future she saw none of those things. She wanted none of those things. But her mother was so beautiful when she smiled it made her heart hurt and her hands were so soft and affectionate running through her hair she would pretend that she did just so she could sit with her longer. 

When her mother died Lexa decided she would only marry when she found someone as special as her mother. 

Clarke laughs at something Aden says and Lexa’s throat ties into knots. The Gods do have an odd sense of humor. 

She can feel Anya watching her, as she always does. Eyes scrupulous but never judging. So she conjures up a distraction of Anya’s favorite variety. 

Status reports.

She learns that they’d received word of a few bandits seen in the woods along the road for the last dozen or so night but they make it easily into town with no incident. 

Lexa leads their little procession down the main street to the center of town in front of the town hall where they put on shows or make announcements to the small folk. The time it takes her to climb down from her horse and onto the stage is the time it takes for a crowd to assemble. 

The spectators press as close to the stage as the guards will allow. They look at her with such rapt attention and adoration she feels like she could rule the entire world. 

“The wars of our past have left an ugly scar on our home. I know just as well as all of you the steep costs of war. We have sacrificed so much. It is time we reap the rewards! It is time we reforge the North. Allied with new friends we can restore our kingdom to its former glory. Now that I've returned we can refocus on better or lives and that of our countrymen.”

The people cheer for her always supporting after a bountiful war effort. She relishes in the praise for a moment longer before she goes inside to meet with the town’s leader. He never drones on about the local happenings for less than an hour and after a year she's sure she’s in for an earful. 

 

By the time she leaves him her heart is beating against her temple.

“Gods he makes me wish I was killed in battle.” Anya scowls.

“He just wants to make sure I’m informed.” 

Anya rolls her eyes, “I told Luna we’d meet them at Niylah’s Tavern after you were done.” 

"Let's get going then."

Luckily, the tavern is close by and with most of the small folk setting up their stalls for the day’s sales, they can move about with only the odd interloper to keep them from reaching their destination. Having two of the most frightening women Lexa has ever seen following her around probably helps too.

The small tavern is dimly lit and crowded as always. Farmhands and blacksmith and castle workers all gather around tables eager to get breakfast before the day’s labor begins. Children almost run from table to table taking orders from impatient patrons and bringing overflowing bowls of porridge or bread to the hungry guests. 

Lexa joins Aden at a corner table painted gold to accommodate the queen’s frequent trips. When she sits Niylah is there immediately to take an order she knows by heart. 

“I’ll have every peach you have left in this place and four eggs runny and your tallest cup of ale.” 

“We’re so glad you’re home. My father was afraid we’d be ruined without you.” 

“You know Niylah, I rode right passed the farm that grows your peaches. I had myself a few but they didn’t taste nearly as sweet. I think you must have an effect on them.”

“Your Grace is much too kind.” she’s off with a wink

“Did Ole Semet have anything interesting to say?” Aden asks through a mouthful of his own breakfast. 

“Not particularly. Maybe he said something after the first five minutes but I couldn’t tell you to be honest.” Lexa focuses on the crinkle of Aden's nose as he laughs so her eyes don't linger on Clarke while she talks. “How did you two make out.”

“Wonderful! I gave Lady Clarke a tour of all the best shops and one not best shop," he wags his eyebrows in a joke that Clarke apparently finds very funny I was just telling Lady Clarke about how you saved this tavern because of your love of fruit.” 

“She’s our hero, m’lady,” Niylah says to Clarke placing the queen's food in front of her. “Used to be our food was no good southern swill till the lot of em found out their princess had a taste for southern peaches,” Niylah says with a smile made sticky by a peach she tastes for the queen herself. Years of friendship have made her words bold as they are true. 

Lexa’s only response is to shrug as she grabs a peach for herself.

“When she found out my daddy was all outta money she came down herself sat right where you’re sitting now and demanded he sells her every last peach he had. Paid double for ‘em.”

“If you didn’t sell them anymore. No one would. That makes your fruit all the more valuable.”

“After that, they couldn’t keep the small folk outta here with pitchforks but this booth is all ours.” Aden smiles proudly. “You can come here anytime you want and Niylah will have your favorite ready for you. Won’t you Niylah.”

“Of course, my prince. Especially for you m’lady. My father was a bannerman for your great uncle.”

“You’re from the Kingdoms?” Clarke asks more than a little surprised but she recovers quickly enough.

“Many of us in Wintertown was but I’m afraid we’re as pale and cold as the rest of them now.” She says placing an affectionate hand on Lexa’s shoulder. “Enjoy your meal, your Grace. You deserve it.

Once Niylah is gone Aden is happy to reclaim Clarke’s attention, “There is still much for you to see, my Lady.” Lexa has only gotten halfway through her breakfast when one of the castle guards finds his way to their table.”

“I beg your pardon, your grace but it's farmer Gideon causing some trouble again.” he’s one of the younger guards. The panic in his eyes shows how green he is.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Gideon? Is he going on about the lord of light again?” Aden asks the boy. 

“Yes, your highness. He looks like he might start a fire again.”

"He was one of the men we sent to Essos. He came back a devout follower to that Fire God they worship in the east.” Aden informs her.

“Well, you seem very knowledgeable about this mess.”

“Oh, I’ve been dealing with him since you left. He’s mostly harmless.”

“Why don’t you go ahead then. Take Indra with you see if you can’t sort him out.” 

“Yes.” He says with a big grin on his face. “I won’t let you down.”

“Gett off then. Before half the town is on fire.” 

“Lady Clarke.” He bows to her at the same time as he hastily makes his way out toward the excitement.

“Gods but they do grow fast,” she says more to herself than anyone else.

“Your people are lucky to have such a promising future in him,” Clarke says watching him leave.

“Don’t I know it. Perhaps I’ll abdicate to him sooner rather than later. Make all of our lives that much better.” 

The ghost of a smile haunts her face more like a twitch than any true projection of joy but Lexa learned from a young age that the one ally is worth one hundred defeated enemies. He’d one every war he’d ever fought that way and Lexa plans to win this one just the same. 

“Why don’t we finish our breakfast outside, it’s a nice enough day today. It’d be a shame to waste it inside a tavern all day. Then I can finish giving you the tour he was going on about.”

Clarke’s face blanches, “this is a nice day?”

“Summer is almost over and-”

“Please.” she puts her hand out, “Please don’t say it. I’ll go. Just don't say those words.”

Lexa smiles inwardly as she leads them back into the town square

Lexa enjoys the last of her sacred peaches just outside the tavern as they watch a baker arrive with his cart full of goods and set up shop next to a tanner. Lexa knows them both. “The tanner is the son of a man that once saved my father’s life. A Northerner like his fathers going back a thousand years. The baker is the daughter of a Dothraki rider and a bastard from the Vale. A northerner for 35 years, perhaps her children will be northerners for 1000 years to come.” Lexa allows herself to think out loud.

“It is...different than I imagined.”

“Yes. Northerners can be very,” she searches for the right word, “traditional. My grandmother included. When she declared independence for the North many sympathizers fled the Six Kingdoms. She and the remaining Northerners feared too many southerners would change the culture. So she built this second Wintertown here so they would not go to Winterfell. Southern refugees came and settle here. They did bring many new things.” Lexa holds up her peach, “But I think she was wrong to fear them.”

“Your father made it illegal for southerners to flee north.” 

Lexa hears he accusation in her voice. She tries not to sound defensive. “But he solidified peace with the Freefolk. He had flaws, I know that but he wasn’t a monster either.” 

“Tell that to the corpses on the southside of your border.”

“Daenerys wanted to break the wheel but she never did. She wiped off the rust of the old one.” Clarke’s face remains stoic but she goes on. "You can polish horseshit every day for the rest of your life and all you’ll end up with is a pretty looking shit. My duty as queen is not only to rule over people by forcing my will on them but I have to guide them. Only once I've uprooted the past can I plant seeds for the future. If we can show them together that harmony between our two nations is possible maybe they will believe it for themselves. They have to believe it for themselves”

“You think that our marriage will change them?” Clarke says so skeptically it comes out like a scoff.

"I know we seem like brutes to you. It’s just how we survive. I know there is compassion in their hearts.”

Clarke nods but says nothing more. 

Normally she has so many emotions flashing plainly across her face. Now she stands without one to be detected. Watching, studying. They watch people go about their day. On any other day, the people swarm around her begging for attention or favors but today with one look at Clarke they keep their distance.

Clarke watches them with a look she does not understand. 

One girl breaks the mold, one girl give Lexa hope. 

“Hello, your Grace.” she takes her hand and presses her lips against the tips of her fingers. “And...”

“This is Lady Clarke of House Lannister.”

“Hear me roar,” she says with a smile full of gaps.

Clarke smiles so genuinely Lexa’s heart skips once as it does before a fight. “That’s right. A lot of people get that wrong.”

The little girl beams. “Is it true that you’re going to be married. My father told me you were.”

“Ah. Yes, what do you think a suitable match, wouldn't you say?”

She nods, “You’re very beautiful, Lady Clarke.” 

Clarke smiles radiantly. 

Lexa hands her a few coins from her purse, “Go on home now.” she takes the pennies tightly in her fist and leaves them with a few backward glances as she goes. 

They haven’t been out longer than a few minutes and already Clarke is beginning to shiver. Lexa unties the front of her cloak “Go on, take it.” 

“Thank you but I don’t need it.”

“Your skin is grey. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a wight.”

Her arms stay tightly crossed.

“I’m sure you can find it in yourself to be angry and warm at the same time.”

“I don’t want your guards to blame me when you freeze to death.”

“Have you not heard? Winter made me. I won’t die from a summer breeze.”

Clarke is about to protest further when another shiver racks her body. She takes the cloak ad wraps herself in it but is sure to keep the scowl on her face.

“You may keep that one if you like or you can buy yourself one.”

“If I had any money I would've bought one already.” 

She takes the small purse tied to her belt and holds it out for Clarke to take but she doesn't budge. "I don't want your money." 

"I don’t want to be the kind of queen- person that talks about making changes but takes no action to do so. I know you were right when we talked before and I would like to make amends as much as is possible for us. I’m sorry for being harsh with you before or just being insensitive. I want us to be civil at least." 

Clarke snatches the purse from her hand. "I'm only taking this because I don't care to walk around with a wolf stitched onto my clothes." 

"Your reasons are your own. I don’t expect you to forgive me but I would like to apologize to all the same. If it suits you better I’ll leave you and Luna to see the rest of town on your own.” 

"Thank you...Your Grace." It's too harsh and awkward but it isn't shouting and that’s more than nothing.

So with a loaded look at Luna, she lets them set off into town and without Clarke as a repellent more of the small folk find their courage to welcome her home. After decades of being fawned over, she hates the attention garnered from simply existing outside of the castle walls but after so long away she feels relieved to be surrounded by people who aren’t soldiers or enemies. She feels Anya and Lincoln hovering just outside of arms reach as people kiss her hands and offer her gifts.

She’s greeted warmly by a dozen or so of the town folk when Aden rejoins her company with good news to boast. The almost incident was killed in its crib when Aden offered to allow Gideon to burn his offerings so long as he does it away from the town or the woods. 

She offers him the chance to find Clarke but he decides to spend the rest of the morning in her company. She’s happy to have him as she reacquaints herself with the sights and sounds she has gone so long without. She’s almost lost track of time when she feels the first freezing cold flake melt against her cheek. “Lincoln, go find Luna please, I think it’s time we go home.” He nods and sets off into town. While the rest of them ready to leave. Some castle hands are already waiting by the stables with their horses. 

“Did you make any progress? With Lady Clarke?, I mean.” Aden asks gratefully taking the reins of his mount. 

“I’m not sure,” she says almost shyly. “I tried apologizing for the way I acted as you suggested-”

“Beg your pardon, your Grace. So sorry to interrupt did you say you apologized and you listened to a suggestion that I, a mere boy, made. Is this blood magic?”

“Stop it.” she scolds. “You know how I loathe theatrics. It’s hardly my first time apologizing. I just don’t do it more because it is so rare that I am ever wrong. And secondly,” Lexa huffs surprised by the swell of emotion getting caught in her throat, “You...did a remarkable job, while I was away. I know more than anyone the pressures of assuming power so young. Of course, you’re my blood, I knew you would take it in stride but, I couldn’t have dreamed of how well you handled yourself. I value your counsel.” 

He stands a little bit taller, his chest a little bit fuller. “I think she is a good woman, Lexa. She’s a bit like you, I think.”

“Time will tell.” She says with a hand on his shoulder. She needs him to know that she trusts his judgment but the risks of being wrong are consequential. She has to be sure before she can trust her.

They don’t have to wait much longer before Lincoln returns with his charges. Clarke returns with a new cloak made of reddish-brown fox pelts it suits her better. The one Lexa had given her is folded in Luna’s arms. 

“Lovely choice, my lady.” Aden smiles as she approaches. 

She hands Lexa back her purse and curtsies to them both but doesn’t say anything to either of them. Aden gives her a shrug. “She’s a lot like you.” 

 

“I warned you against this, your Grace, but you did not listen.” Lexa watches the flames lick the parchment turning its secrets to ash.

“I had no other choice.” she almost growls for the hundredth time. “Do you honestly believe the Targaryeans, had they gotten their hands on a Lannister army, would not have made a play for my throne.” 

“Then throw her in a dungeon and never let her see the light of day again. They’ll never get to her and she cannot get to them.” 

“I can’t just lock her away from the world Titus. We have no idea how many supporters she has left. I don’t even know if she knows. If lock her away whoever and however many of those allies there are will come for her with their fury.”

“And yet you allow her freedoms like a citizen of our country. A servant already came to me to tell me she caught her whispering with her maid. They could be conspiring to bring those allies here and you allow it.”

The sun has dipped below the horizon hours ago. The night is dead silent. There isn't even a gust of wind to carry their hushed shouting into the night. They have been deliberating for hours and reached no conclusion. She’s sure there are fewer than a dozen people awake in the whole of Winterfell and still, they argue. 

“What if we ask Uncle Bran. He’ll know.” Aden interjects with a calm voice. “We can find out everything and we can tell her the truth.” 

“You want me to introduce Clarke to our Uncle, who is a tree? She’s not of the North, Aden. What will his word mean to her? Our only hope is her mother.” 

The maester hangs his head in defeat. “If that letter is true. If any part of that is true. It might not even matter if she makes it.” 

“I trust my brother Maester Titus. He would never betray me.” She hasn’t seen her eldest brother since before she marched south but she has never needed proximity to know he is an honorable man. He is more like their father than any of her siblings. 

“Who do we trust then?” Aden says with worry in his eyes.

Anya speaks for the first time that night, “No one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting to suspect that Lexa knows a bit more than she's letting on.  
> Also, thank you again for all the comments it really makes me smile so here is a fun little piece from the next chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> Clarke is surprised to find very few people waiting in quite a large space. She does not recognize a single face, but she does recognize the look of lords. Apart from one woman who stands a head taller than any other man no one particularly stands out. The woman has pale yellow hair, like the sun when it hides behind the clouds, and eyes like blue fire. She doesn’t wear Stark colors or really anything resembling the normal garb of the North. She wears far more layers, none of which are clean or well kept, the furs she wears are matted and dirty, and she has, what looks like, a dog skull tied into her hair.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but I couldn't fit everything in one chapter, but it's already pretty long and I've hardly started so it's probably going to be more like 4. Please let me know what you think. I've really had a fun time writing this and I already have a big chunk of the next chapter written. 
> 
> I'm only a casual (former) fan of Game of Thrones so I did my best to be accurate but if I messed up any lore or locations or anything like that. My bad.
> 
> thank you.


End file.
